A Grim Tale
by FireAngel312
Summary: Jack, who stumbled upon a group of people who had frozen to death, meets an figure that he'd never seen before. What will he learn from this dark character? And will he learn to live with what he learns? (After RotG, Obviously an AU though. One-shot)


**Author's Note: Okay, this is my second one-shot for RotG. Another idea I came up with randomly. If you understand it, well than I'm glad. If you're confused by it, well, than I guess it was a good idea to add Mystery as one of the genre types.**

Who could have done this? A horrible deed beyond that which he'd ever seen had been done. Jack felt sick, even turning away from it did not remove the image he had seen from his head. Even in the dark of the night, it had been too vivid. Bodies, at least four of them, all frozen rock solid scattered in a small enclosure of trees. They all wore, probably that of their lasts moments, an expression of peace only found in sleep. However, to Jack, this was far from peaceful.

He only faced death when humans passed on, for he was immortal and could only watch instead of experience. The only thing he could feel was sadness when another died. Often because he had watched some of them grow and choose a path in life, but it also meant that another person left him. It was funny the way he felt. Never could he be seen by a mortal human, yet he felt like he was left alone when one died. It was something that made him think about his past, which was something he could never remember.

Jack moved ever so slowly towards the bodies, he wanted a closer look. He knelt down next to a man that could have been a grandfather and probably was. Jack didn't need to run his hand over the man to know he was frozen to the bone. Moving on he inspected the other three bodies of a woman who could not have been past the age of thirty, a man who could have been her husband, and a boy who looked to be no older then sixteen. A tear, which quickly froze on his skin, rolled down Jack's cheek. His heart was pumping his blood in such a strange manner, it sounded like wing beats.

Wing beats? No, that wasn't the sound of blood rushing through his body! Those were actual wing beats, but the sounded slow and abnormal. Whatever owned the wings was large, far larger than any flying creature Jack knew. Jack swung around, hefting his shepherd's crook like staff at the ready, waiting. Seconds passed and the wing beats grew closer, Jack began to feel anxious. Suddenly something dropped out of the sky and fell in front of him.

The figure blended in to its dark surroundings due to the black cloak it wore. The only other aspect jack could immediately see was the pair of black-feather wings outstretched from its back. Slowly as it stood, something else caught Jack's attention. In both hands it held something. In its left it held a…well, Jack wasn't sure what it was, it looked as if it was a cross between a lamp and an hourglass. Anyway, from it spewed a dark, grey light that emitted from flames of the same color. In its left hand it held a staff, similar to his, except at the very end, where the crook would have been, a gleaming blade curved down. The figure itself moved past Jack quickly and started inspecting the bodies.

They said nothing for moments as they went from one body to the next. Eventually, the figure in black stood up. Words finally came from them and echoed across the enclosure. They caused Jack to shiver.

"More grains of sand to add to the flow of time." They were whispered and the tone was of remorse. The figure extended his hand that held the hourglass/lamp, which jack noticed were bone white. In fact, as Jack looked closer, he could see they were bone! As the hourglass/lamp extended over the four bodies, four identical grains of light flew from the bodies and into the glass, molding in with the flames within. Jack blinked realizing that he had been watching the whole time.

"What was that?" he said as he finally found the words to say. The figure turned its face, which was hidden deep within a black hood.

"Jack Frost," the same voice as before said. Jack wandered if he, for it was a masculine voice, whispered like that all the time or if he could actually speak out loud. "It seems we finally meet."

"Meet? What do you mean?" Jack asked as he became confused. "Who are you?"

There was a slight pause. "Some call me the angel of death; others the Grim Reaper; my friends call me Jack Grimm."

"Why have I never seen you before?"

"What do you mean?"

"Out of all the years I've lived, never have I seen you before. Why is that?"

"You've never needed to meet me." And though the answer seemed innocent enough, Jack couldn't quite explain how he felt that there was a second meaning behind it.

"What do you do?"

"As the name I first gave you would seem to suggest, I bring about death, or at least, from the beginning of three hundred years ago. Before that, death came as those who out rank us gave it."

"That's horrible," Jack whispered, horror welled up inside.

"It's my job, just like the frost is yours."

"But why would anyone make someone like you?"

"It's quite simple really," the whispered voice came from underneath the hood. "The Man in the Moon grew tired of playing the role of death and created me to do the nasty work for him."

"What?" Jack was disgusted. "Manny would never do that, he only creates those who serve the people of the world, the children. What you're talking about is inhuman, something like Pitch would do."

From underneath the hood came a soft growl and Grimm's black wings unfurled. "And making someone live an immortal life with no memory of their past isn't inhuman?"

Jack was stumped. He had never really dwelled about the fact that he had no memories; it made it easier to cope.

"And Pitch! Ha! Pitch only makes my job harder, causing people to fear death. Pitch is a bug I would like to squash. Except, you've already done that haven't you. You, and the other Guardians."

"I'm sure my friends would like to squash you as well if I ever told them about you," Jack said as his anger rose.

"Save your breath. I'm invisible to all, but you." The statement caught Jack off guard.

"I don't understand," Jack peered at him with squinted eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't, you've never meet me before today. However, I think that by all rights I am obliged to tell you the truth. That's if you'll hear it."

Silence fell as though the presence of the person before him literally brought about the death of everything. Jack himself was speechless. Did he really want to know the truth behind this character? Jack eyed "Grimm" suspiciously.

"What's your story?" Jack demanded without a second thought. Grimm stood up straighter.

"May I remove my hood first? I warn you it may not be what you're expecting."

"Go ahead." A bony hand reached up and grasped the hem of the black hood. As the hands slowly pulled at the material, jack prepared himself for what was underneath. For, if his hands suggested anything, Jack _expected_ what he was about to see. And he was correct. Upon the cloaked shoulders of Jack Grimm sat a pure white skull. The same dark grey flame inside his hourglass/lamp hung in the middle of his eye sockets in an imitation of eyes.

"You took that better than anticipated," the lower jaw opened only slightly to let the same airy whisper escape from him. Jack shivered again. "Anyway, where would you like me to begin?"

"From…from when you came into existence?" Jack stuttered.

"Ah, that's something you already know, Jack. It's all in our names, Jack." Despite the stillness of the skeletal face, Jack could tell that Grimm was staring at him pointedly. So Jack thought about their names. The only thing he could tell was that the shared the same first name, which he pointed out.

"Yes, that is true," Grimm answered in response. "But it's a bit deeper than that." Grimm glanced around as though he was looking for something to help him explain better. His eyes stopped on the four bodies lying at his feet.

"Jack, have you ever heard of the different descriptions of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll take that as a "no". Okay, there are several different names you have been given throughout time and two of them go hand in hand. Ones obviously Jack Frost and the other is Old Man Winter."

"Old man?!" Jack burst. But after he thought about it, perhaps the description fit his age.

"Hush. Now, Jack Frost is usually described as a trickster, someone who likes to have fun," Grimm explained. "Old Man Winter on the other hand is described as a bitter and harsh, killing people with his powers over the ice." Again, Jack felt like Grimm was staring at him pointedly, but he still couldn't quite grasp what the skeleton was saying.

"Okay?" Jack said questioningly.

"Jack, remember what I said. I said that I took over the job of death nearly three hundred years ago." Something clinked inside jack's head and his face grew paler, an amazing feat for someone already as white as snow. Grimm must have noticed Jack understood because he nodded his head. "That's right Jack, I was born the same night as you were more than three hundred years ago. I am you, or a part of you at any rate."

Just thinking of it had made Jack's head hurt. Hearing it was even worse. _How could he be me? _Jack thought. If Grimm had ever been human, all he had was the skeletal structure to prove it. But no sooner as he had thought that, Grimm did something to get his point across. His skull was soon adjourned with skin and hair. Jack was terrified to find himself staring into his own face.

Of course, it wasn't exactly like him. Though Grimm's hair was the same snow white as his, its length far surpassed Jack's. His face was also closely identical, except, by far gaunter than his own. His hands were as long and nimble, but as thin as a chicken leg. Of all the flesh that was exposed, it seemed like Grimm lacked fat to make him less…deathly looking.

"But…how?" Jack gasped out.

Grimm smiled, which matched his own name perfectly. "Have you ever wondered why you've never gotten angrier or more depressed as you do? Did you know that a Guardian is preselected before they are made? By your silence, I think not. Let me explain something Jack. When a Guardian is made, the Man in the Moon must be sure that the Guardian will always protect the people of the world, most importantly, the children. So what does he do? He takes out all the bad emotions. Jack, have you ever heard the principle of mass conservation?"

"I think I may have gotten a whisper of it here or there when I'm round kids right after their school day. Why?"

"It's the same concept. The principle implies that mass, or rather in this case, emotions, can neither be created nor destroyed, but it may be rearranged in space, or the entities associated with it may be changed in form. Thus, when Manny removes all the bad emotions, all he can do with them is create something else. Thus, I was born from the remnants of the emotions the Man in the Moon extracted from you. And that's why only you can see me."

"But you said that you were made from the remnants of my "bad" emotions. Wouldn't that make you evil, or something?" Grimm smiled, Jack shivered at the sight of his mouth producing such a chilling smile.

"No, they just make me more solemn. It's hard to explain. But if it wasn't done otherwise, you'd get people like Pitch and you've seen how much damage someone like him can do." Despite the fact that Jack was still feeling rather strange in Grimm's company, he had to agree on that. Pitch was someone that should not have been. But something else bothered Jack.

"You said that whenever a Guardian is preselected, their "bad " emotions are removed," Jack stated. Grimm bowed his head.

"That is correct."

"So, does that mean there are four others like you?" Grimm nodded again.

"War, Victor Warfield, is all that is left of what was extracted from your friend North. Famine, Dalziel Florian, came from the Easter Bunny. Pestilence, Rue Pollyam, sprang from the Tooth Fairy. And Fear, or Pitch Black, came from the Sandman."

"Wait! I thought you just said that our "bad" emotions were removed to prevent people like Pitch?"

"Sandman is the oldest of the Guardians, thus the first to have such a process tried on. Pitch Black was born from it and for some time it seemed like Pitch would be fine. But then he changed. He knew he had pronounced power, which he was using at the time as to warn of disasters through dreams. Since that time in history, the Horseman, as me and the others call ourselves; have cut our ties from him. From that time on, the Man in the Moon perfected the process."

"So you were just created in order to make us better and more reliable Guardians." Grimm nodded. "Then why give you jobs like this?"

"Because we're also here to balance the world. As there may be happiness there also must be sadness. That is just how reality works. You can see it all as sunshine and daises, but you're only fooling yourself then." Grimm slipped his black hood over his head again. "Now, I must be off. People are dying every second and I must collect their souls."

"Grimm?!"

"Yes, Jack?" the retreating figure called back without even looking.

"If only the Guardian who made someone like you can see you, then why could we see Pitch?"

"Like I said, it appeared that Pitch would be as kind and spirited as any of you. He had parts left of Sandman in him, emotions that hadn't been strained out. That allowed you to see him and allowed him to use Sandman's sand. Perhaps, one day, when human race finally come to believe in us as beings rather than just natural orders of the world, we'll finally be seen. But I fear that day. And that day shall come when Pitch finally gets his vengeance." With that, Grimm whistled, though Jack couldn't quite explain how knowing that he was only made of bones. The sound rang through the tree tops and past what lay just out of Jack's sight. It was silent for a moment.

Then a distant sound answered back, the braying of a horse. Jack listened as the hushed sound of quickened footsteps came closer. A horse, its coat whiter then snow, leapt from behind the tree and trotted closer to Grimm. As it pulled in front of him, Grimm climbed onto the horses back, his wings folded up for the horse ride. Then, wielding his hourglass/lamp and his scythe, jack Grimm barreled into the darkness, where jack lost sight of him.

**Author's Note: So if you understood the whole twisted thing, than I did something good. However, if you were just confused by the complex thing than it was a nice try on my part. At least I understand it, which is a consolation for me. Just one quick thing to explain, or at least, one that I find I need to explain. When Grimm was talking about Old Man Winter, he was basically implying that he was Old Man Winter due to the fact that he his death, which Old Man Winter causes, basically and was part of Jack. Whether that helped or just confused you more, I hope you liked the story. Again this is a one-shot so you won't have to fear anymore complicated and twisted explanations for this story.**


End file.
